I went on a tiny road trip this past weekend to Akron, Ohio, to go to a birthday party that featured an honest-to-goodness Talent Show. With flute performances, sock puppets and everything.
(In case you’re wondering, Yours Truly walked away with the trophy for Best Female Performance. My talent? I showed a video of a film trailer that Maya and I made in college, nine years ago.)
At any rate, the drive up to Akron took us directly past Grandpa’s Cheese Barn in Ashland, Ohio. I’d organized an early departure from Columbus so that we could have a leisurely trip, just in case anyone wanted to stop by the barn full of cheeses, figurines, ornaments and Christian wall hangings.
Sure enough, Jenny saw one of the many billboards and asked if we could stop.
To some, Grandpa’s Cheese Barn is simply a place to stretch legs and use the facilities in between Columbus and Cleveland. To others, it’s a place to stop for grandchildren. For me, it’s a place to find weird cheeses. Like sage cheese.
I like sage, and I like cheese, so I tried it. (There are a million samples of cheeses at Grandpa’s Cheese Barn. Almost too many to try.)
I was definitely the only one of our group who was completely impressed by the idea of a sage cheese. (Impressed enough to taste it twice, but not enough to buy it, I must admit. Sorry, Grandpa’s Cheese Barn.)
How many people, I wonder, stop at the place and do exactly what we did: taste, pee and run? And how many buy the cheeses? Finally, how many people plan the stop in their itineraries?